Stay With Me
by IndigoNightandRayneStorm
Summary: She hadn’t gone to the roof intentionally, but who she met there changed her life forever, just as much as she’d saved his. Twoshot! WarrenxRogue
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Stay With Me

**Author: **IndigoNight

**Summary: **She hadn't gone to the roof intentionally, but who she met there changed her life forever, just as much as she'd saved his.

**Feedback: **Yes please, yay reviews!

**Pairing: **WarrenxRogue

**Disclaimer: **I do not own X-Men or the characters I'm just borrowing them for fun.

**Spoilers: **Nope

**Rating: **PG-13 for substance abuse and attempted suicide.

**Warnings: **Substance abuse and suicidal themes

**Author's Note: **So, a while ago, I went on a RoguexWarren binge, 'cause they're awesome, this is just the first one that I got around to actually writing. So keep on the look out for more RoguexWarren coming… eventually. OK, so this is the first chapter of a two shot. Read, Review, Enjoy!

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Rogue was wondering aimlessly. It was Saturday afternoon, she'd finished all of her homework for the weekend, she had no friends who she was interested in hanging out with, and she didn't really feel like reading. That left her alone with nothing but her thoughts and a lot of restless energy.

And so she walked. She wasn't really paying attention to where she was going. She'd walked across the school grounds and back, more than once; she wandered the hallways and corridors, stopping every so often, in the kitchen for a snack, in one of the living rooms to watch TV for a few minutes, but always she moved on, her attention span too short that day to allow her to stay in one place for too long.

And that was how, miraculously, she ended up on the roof that evening, just as the sun was beginning to set.

She wasn't really paying attention, and didn't even realize that that was where she was headed, until she'd reached the top of the stairs and stepped out into the cool evening air. She took a deep breath, then jumped in surprise as she heard a muffled grunting sound.

She whirled around, and found, that on the other side of the flat expanse of the roof, knelt an angel.

His pale, bare back was illuminated in the light of the setting sun, one huge, pearly wings stretched out behind him, glowing in the oranges and reds and pinks that framed him, but so too, was the blood streaming down his back highlighted.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, her voice slightly shrill in shock and horror.

He paused, the knife he held in his hand, hovering over his other wing frozen. Then he turned, slowly, as though afraid of what he would see, standing as he did in one motion which would have been smooth and graceful, if not for the way he stumbled drunkenly halfway through it.

When she could see his face, she found it too be angular, and quite handsome, but marred by tear tracks, and swollen red pouches under his unfocused eyes.

"No," he muttered crazily, backing away a step, staring at her as though she was a ghost, or something worse. "No, not this time."

She frowned, utterly surprised by this reaction. "Not this time what?" she asked, taking a cautious step toward him.

"No! Stop!" he cried, taking another step, getting dangerously close to the edge now, and brandishing the knife wildly at her, "You can't stop me, not this time."

"OK, why don't we just calm down for a second," she cautioned, taking another step, her hands up in what she hoped was a soothingly defensive gesture, "Why don't you put the knife down, and step away from the edge, and lets talk about this."

"N-no," he said, but he was faltering. He glanced anxiously over his shoulder and the ground several stories below, but didn't take another step back, "You can't stop me, not again."

"Again?" she asked, frowning. She was beginning to get very frustrated by this seemingly insane, drunk, suicidal guy, and his nonsensical ramblings. "I've never talked to you before in my life."

Something changed in him then. In his eyes, in his face, his posture, his voice, it all changed. "Just get away from me!" he snapped, his blue eyes suddenly flashing stormy dark. The lines around his mouth harden into a grimace, a grimace of what, she wasn't exactly sure. He stood a little straighter, but at the same time seemed to lean away from her, as though afraid she would hit him or something.

"Warren, calm down, think about this," she tried to sooth, not giving up, inching forward cautiously, afraid to send him over the edge. It was true, she had never spoken to him before, but everyone knew Warren Worthington III, especially those who had come as close to being in contact with the cure as she had.

At her use of his name, once again something changed in him, but this time it wasn't as obvious, this time it was only in his eyes. "You don't know me," his voice was slightly softer now, a strange, deep longing in his eyes.

"No, but if you do this, I'll never get the chance to," Rogue didn't know what she was saying, or why she was saying it. All she knew was that Warren intended to jump, and she wasn't about to let him. She had never stopped advancing towards him, and was now only a few feet away. Still, she continued closer, until she could touch him. He had by now allowed his hand holding the knife to drop limply to his side. He didn't move as she laid a hand on his shoulder, but he did stiffen, his eyes widening slightly as they remained locked onto her.

"You really don't want to do this," the words came automatically without her thinking them out. She knew them; she knew them already because she remembered when they'd been spoken to her, not all that long ago.

Suddenly, once more, he changed. "You. Don't. Know. Me." He snarled, suddenly. His face had gone completely hard now, all fear, all sorrow, everything, gone as his hand flew up on reflex, shoving her gloved hand roughly from his shoulder so hard that she stumbled several steps, in the wrong direction.

She teetered for no more than a second, staring in wide-eyed shock into his just as surprised blurred blue eyes. Then she didn't even had time to scream as Rogue suddenly realized that she was falling.

8

Warren stared as she fell. Everything was slowly, slowly filtering through he foggy mind. He was so drunk that the world swayed and whirled around him and he had trouble focusing his eyes. But he could focus on her, he saw _her_ in perfect clarity as she fell.

He didn't think about the action, didn't remember that he now only had one wing, he simply acted. He leapt, diving off of the roof after her. The only thought in his mind was the hazy, _can't die; she can't die_ that whirled over and over through it.

It was more like he was falling, his one wing being of little help. But he flapped it nonetheless, ignoring the shooting pain from where he had begun to remove it too. He sped after her. The ground was coming up, fast, fast, way too fast. He couldn't reach her in time. No! _Can't die, she can't die!_

Then, just before the impact, his hand reached out toward her, with one last stroke of his mighty wing, he felt he fabric of her shirt. He threw himself beneath her, cradling her to his chest as he angled his back to the ground. Even if he'd had both of his wings, it was too late, to late to fly away, too late avoid the ground.

Then the impact came.

8

Rogue was in shock. She was so shocked, that she hardly registered him following her. Only his face, his oddly angular, beautiful, angelic face floating before her. Then she felt his arms around her, she felt him clutching her to his chest. Distantly the instinct to pull away ran through her mind, the fear of hurting him, of stealing his life force, but she didn't. Then they hit.

She felt the jarring impact, but not as badly as she'd imagined it would be, and she realized what he'd done. In putting himself beneath her, he'd taken the brunt of the impact.

Quickly she rolled off of him, calling his name in a panic and feeling for a pulse. But to her surprise, he suddenly stirred, and leapt to his feet. He swayed as soon as he was up, swayed dangerously, he had an odd, confused look on his face, he favored his left leg, his face was oddly twisted in a detached pain.

But then his blurry eyes focused on her, kneeling on the ground next to where he had been.

"You!" he exclaimed, waving a wildly accusing finger at her. Then he stumbled and fell, his head landing directly in her lap. "You're here," he murmured, his voice growing soft and misty as he began to slip away into darkness.

"Y-yes," she said, for lack of a better reply. Drowsily he clutched at the hem of her shirt, snuggling his head into her lap sleepily. "Don't leave," he whispered, "Please don't leave this time, please be here when I wake up." And with that he drifted away, fading into darkness.

Gently Rogue ran a hand through his hair, murmuring soothingly to him, an odd warm feeling rising in her chest.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey all. SO so so sorry it took me so long to update this one, I've been busy. So here's the last chapter. Never fear, everything will be explained, I know the first chapter was kinda confusing, it was supposed to be. Huge thanks to Harpiebird and irocksocks for reviewing. Read, Review, Enjoy!**

* * *

When Warren woke it took a long time for him to realize where he was. When he first opened his eyes all he could see was the blinding florescent light above his head, but then even that was drowned out by the massive headache that suddenly informed him of his presence.

He groaned, although he didn't hear it, and closed his eyes again quickly; almost praying for unconsciousness again was the waves of pain and nausea swept through him.

"Here," said a soft, soothing feminine voice from somewhere above him, "Swallow these." He realized a hand was being held to his mouth, felt the slightly scratchy feeling of cloth against his lips, opened his mouth reflexively and felt two pills being put in. Then there was an arm under his neck, helping him sit a little and drink from the glass that was being held to his lips.

He coughed a little, choking slightly on the water, then laid back with a sigh and prayed that whatever drugs she'd given him would start working soon.

Luckily, before long, they did, at least enough for him to cautiously open his eyes again. To find _her_ worried face hovering over him.

"You," he murmured fuzzily, blinking at her, "You're still here." Then memories of the night before began to float back into his blurry mind. He remembered drinking, going up to the roof, cutting off his wing, then _she'd_ come… oh god, how much had he had to drink? After she'd showed up, that's when his memory began to get really fuzzy.

"You asked me to be," she said, her voice, it was so beautiful, so gentle, an angel's voice.

"W-What exactly happened?" he found himself asking, although from the blurred flashed of memory he was getting, he wasn't quite sure he wanted to know.

"Well…" she seemed unsure of how to answer. But that was all right, his mind was slowly filling in all of the blurred, awful details of it.

"Never mind, I remember now," he moaned, saving her from trying to fumble through an explanation. God, how could he have done those things, said those things?

"You broke your leg," she told him softly, "When we fell."

_When I pushed you,_ he thought, but said nothing.

"And a few ribs, Hank said, but you should be fine. He even said your wing should grow back in time," she sounded like she was trying a little too hard to be cheerful.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, attempting to make his eyes focus on anything but her face.

She shrugged and said simply, "You were drunk," as though that made it all right. He still didn't meet her eyes.

"But… I was wondering," she continued hesitantly, "Up there, you-you kept acting as though you knew me, I mean, that could have just been the alcohol, you could have thought I was someone else, but I was just wondering…" she fumbled, her words coming too fast as though she was afraid she might loose the nerve to say them. Her eyes were scanning his face, trying to find the answers she sought there. "It wasn't just the alcohol… was it?" she asked after a moment of waiting for a response and not getting one, "But I've never talked to you before in my life."

"Actually," he corrected quietly, "You have."

"What? When?" she asked. There was a faint crease between her eyebrows and Warren found his eyes drawn irresistibly towards it.

"It was five months ago," he said, his voice was soft. He shifted, struggling to sit up so as to be in a more comfortable position to talk. Automatically she reached out to help him. Once he was settled, he continued, "Well, four months and twenty-eight days, to be exact."

She frowned, obviously trying to remember what she'd been doing four months and twenty-eight days ago. Then her face cleared slightly, then clouded even more with confusion, "I was in line, to get the cure," she said. He nodded. She shook her head, "But then I left, I chickened out."

He nodded again. "As you were walking away, somebody came out of an alley and asked you-"

"Asked me why I'd changed my mind," she finished, remembering. She stared at him, new realization and wonder filling her eyes.

Warren nodded for a third time, "And you told me, that if getting the cure was what it took for people to love you, then-"

"They weren't worth my time," she finished for him again in amazement. But then she frowned again, once more going over the conversation, if you could call it that, of the night before. "But you were acting like I'd stopped you from… from… before?" she shook her head in confusion.

"That day, when I asked you," he said, studying his hands, "I was considering going back to my dad, telling him I'd changed my mind. But your words convinced me not to. So I decided to find someplace else, start a new life."

"Here."

He nodded. "But it didn't work so well. I tried; I tried as hard as I could. I watched you, I watched the way that asshole treated you, I watched while you cried over him, but I could never work up the courage to speak to you, since you obviously didn't remember me. And I couldn't escape, my dad kept calling me, trying to convince me. It all just built up. Then…" his voice faltered, "That's when the dreams started."

"Dreams?" Rogue asked.

"They were different, every time. How I chose to did it. The roof, the bathtub, a knife, water, the ground, pills, every way possible. But one thing, one thing was always the same," his voice lowered to a whisper so soft she had to lean forward to be able to hear him, as he carefully studied his hands in his lap. "Every-every time, just before I died, an angel would show up. She was so beautiful, the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen," he glanced up at her now, though he didn't quite meet her eyes. His eyes were shining with something, something she couldn't quite place. Admiration? Infatuation? No, Love, his eyes were shining with love.

"And she would just stand there," he continued, his voice reverent, "And she'd ask me, she'd say, 'What are you doing?' and I'd tell her, 'Ending this miserable, worthless existence,' I'd say. Then she'd just shake her head, and smile, such a beautiful smile. Her head cocked slightly to one side, smiling innocently at me, she'd say, 'If that's what it take for them to love you, then it isn't worth it.'" His hands, clasped in his lap were shaking as he stared at them and whispered, "But she was always too late. That smile was always the last thing I saw as I died."

Rogue said nothing; she wasn't sure what to say. She was still confused, not quite making the connection, and she was beginning to wonder if Warren was really insane.

But then he looked up at her, and now he did meet her eyes, and there was an odd, gentle smile on his lips, that soft love still dancing in his eyes, and he said quietly, "That angel was you."

"Me?" she asked in amazement, shocked, "I'm no angel."

"But you saved me," he said simply, as though that was all it took, "So when I saw you last night, well, I began to think that I was just dreaming again. But I didn't want to be, I really was ready for it all to just be over."

Rogue was silent for a long minute, and Warren said nothing either. He seemed to be waiting, quite patiently, for her to process things, for her reaction. "Right before you passed out," she whispered at last, "You begged me to still be here when you woke up…" she trailed off, leaving her question to her tone.

He smiled, a smile that immediately made her heart back. "Who wouldn't want to wake up to the face of an angel?" he said.

At that her cheeks became very red.

He lifted a hand, gently brushing at the blush. Instinctively she pulled back, but he didn't let her. "Shh," he murmured, smiling, "You won't hurt me." She wanted to protest, she knew she should pull away again, but her body refused to obey her. And so she sat frozen while he caressed her cheek, practically quivering as she waited for that awful cry of pain, that look of terror they always gave her when it began to happen. But that never came. Only Warren's face, slowly coming closer, and closer, until gently, their lips met.

When at last they separated, Warren didn't draw back all the way, instead he ran his fingers through her hair, smiling at her.

"Will you always be there when I wake up?" he asked quietly. His voice was quiet and gently, but his eyes held fear, fear that she would say no, that she would disappear and leave him alone again.

"Will you try to kill yourself again?" she asked, her tone matching just as perfectly as the look in her eyes did.

"Not as long as I have you," he whispered, and he meant it.

She smiled. "Then yes," she answered, "I will always be there."

"Good," was all he had time to whisper before their lips met once more.

**The End**


End file.
